Nudebook

My finger shook nervously as I held it over the Enter key on my computer. Gawd, what was I thinking? What if someone recognized me? I adjusted my mask to make sure no one could see my face. At the time I bought the Paris Hilton mask I thought it would be hilarious to portray one of the most famous online sex celebrities of all time. Now that the time had come I wondered if it was too over the top.

"Join NudeBook for bare-naked fun," stated the advertisement in one of the hundreds of spam email messages I received daily. Normally, I delete spam like human resources nitwits trash resumes they receive from new college graduates. Maybe it's because I'm totally hooked on Facebook that I noticed the email. Facebook is perfect for me because my attention span is measured in nanoseconds. It's a great concept...my friends post something like "Omg, I'm sooooo hung over from last night" and I can respond with "Alexis likes this" by clicking one key! Or I simply type "lol" to convey my mirth over my friend's lament, "God, it's only Monday and my mind is moribund." (I looooove alliteration.)

Where was I? Oh yeah, NudeBook. I clicked on the link in the spam thinking control of my computer would soon be seized by Russian mobsters drinking rotgut vodka in a smoky industrial building in merry olde Moscow. The website layout was a complete knockoff of Facebook. Of course they had the usual provisos about being 18, blah, blah, blah in print so small you'd have to have an electron microscope to read it. However, as I clicked into the site I found the layout to be extremely professional.

The gist of NudeBook was... guess what class? Nudity. Online nudity. Facebook on raging hormones. The My Space of pussy, tits and dicks. Skype without clothes. Match turned into Snatch. eHarmony morphed into eBare-ony.

By the way sports fans, in case you are new to my writing, you will be dizzy and disoriented (and hopefully horny) before this little submission is finished. Remember my attention span problem? Even I have to read back the previous paragraphs to remember my thread.

Anyhoo, I joined NudeBook. I am a bit of an exhibitionist at work and play so the concept appealed to me. Those who know my body may go ahead and look incredulous at this time. Go ahead, I can take it. Did I tell you my name is Alexis, aka Nebraska, aka Twiggy, aka Olive Oyl, aka firepole? Nebraska may take some explanation; my tormenting older brothers named me that when I was 13 because I was as flat as the plains of Nebraska. It was also shortened to Neska due to the fact that Alexis didn't need a bra. Verrrry funny, bros.

Unfortunately, my frame is still willowy (a polite way of saying I have sunny side up eggs on my chest). Fortunately, my other parts developed normally and I sport two fine, pink nipples that harden like cat's eye marbles when properly stimulated and a shapely ass that I try to keep turned toward my adoring male co-workers whenever possible. I'm just saying that productivity goes way down in the office when I wear my silk blouse and True Religion skinny jeans on casual Friday.

I surfed through NudeBook looking at other peep's profiles to get a feel for what was expected. Rule 1 was that your profile pic had to be naked. Rule 2 was that every posted pic had to be naked. Rule 3 through Rule 25 had something to do with being naked. I registered under a false name which in my infinite cleverness was Paris Marriott. I've been told I look a bit like Paris with the slim bod, blond hair and elegant style (ok, we share a hair color and body type anyway-I made up that elegant shit). Actually, even though Paris has modest boobies she is Dolly Parton compared to my bust. We do share another body feature; a hairless pussy, if the crotch shots getting out of her limos are accurate. Those photos made her more famous; I still look like a 13 year old. Sigh.

Here's the cool/scary part of NudeBook; they have a cam section where, you guessed it, you have to be naked. Thus my quivering finger on the Enter key. I was about to go live on cam in my birthday suit. Wearing my Paris Hilton mask with her enigmatic smile and my bare, swizzle stick body. Yikes.

Like I said earlier, I'm an exhibitionist to a degree. But so far that little quirkiness has been limited to flashing my thong covered cooch to male co-workers when I was filing in the lowest cabinets wearing my shortest skirt. Or, leaving a couple buttons open on my blouse so my guy friends at Murphy's Bar could enjoy the glorious rapture of my bare nips. My smart-ass friend Art the Fart asked if a bee had stung my chest when he peered down my shirt. His own nipple got a severe twisting for that unkind comment.

I know what you are thinking; click the damn key Alexis. Sheeesh, all right, already. So I did.

Have any of you perverts researched sex cam things online? They are one-way video featuring emaciated Russian girls rolling around on mattresses looking at the camera with lusty eyes trolling for private shows like a trout fisherman casting their delicate fly into a still pool of water hoping the monster rainbow will strike.

If you know about the sex cam stuff then put it out of your mind because NudeBook is different. I brought it up because I wanted to use that awesome fishing simile. (I'm grinning at you right now.) Anyway, when I went live in this cam section I found there were many kinds of 'rooms' to visit, kind of like Literotica. Since I was Paris Marriott wearing my appropriate mask I joined the Celebrity room. Plus, I'm such a sucker for celebrity crap. I read People; I watch 'E' and Entertainment Tonight; I looooove Dancing with the Stars! So I figured everyone else in the Celebrity room would be like-minded (and naked).

NudeBook uses the best (or worst) of chat rooms and Skype. If you see someone interesting you ask them to go private and then it's one on one cam action. I was a noob to this so I just hung around the edges looking at other peep's profiles and bodies. Girls, if you are reading this, I will tell you that the men's bodies in NudeBook are nothing like the porn sites. Their penises are NORMAL. No gigantic anaconda snakes hanging between their legs. No massive erections pointing straight to heaven. No testicles the size of baseballs. Sorry to poop on your head like a pigeon in a park.

As I was lurking I got an IM indicating an interest in a private meeting (viewing, ha ha). So I clicked affirmatively and waited for my admirer. I adjusted my mask, tweaked my nipples and waited for my hunky, naked man (my imagination was sure it was Johnny Depp) to appear on my screen.

Imagine my surprise when my mirror image stared at me. What the fudge? I squinted through the eye holes of my Paris mask straight back at a very real Paris Hilton from the neck up. She was peering at me with her patented arched neck and sideways pose. I'm not a huge fan of Paris but I don't hate her like some celebrity watchers. Now, I do hate the Angelina/Brad devil spawn because of the pain they caused my real heroine, Jen Aniston (she allows me to call her Jen). But that's another story.

My rational brain was saying it couldn't be Paris but my eyes were telling me differently. Then she spoke and then it was obviously her. That breathy, little girl voice is so distinctive no one could fake it.

"Why are you impersonating me, bish?"

Uh oh, this mask is feeling a little restrictive all of a sudden.

"Um, well, I thought it would be kinda funny?" I weakly replied.

"I don't care about funny and I will have my attorney contact NudeBook so I can track you down and sue you for defamation of character," she retorted hotly.

In my panic I wasn't thinking clearly so I asked in a tiny voice, "I'm very sorry, I was just using the mask and name to protect my own identity. Isn't there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

Paris had this stern look on her face but I heard a male voice mutter something unintelligible in the background. She smiled slightly and nodded in apparent agreement.

"Well, I will give you a break if you entertain my friend and I. We want you to masturbate on camera for us and if it's good enough I will not pursue legal action," she coolly responded.

I've stated that I'm an exhibitionist but I can't claim much experience in public self-arousal. However, I've got tons of experience bringing my little stick bod to orgasm whenever my needs exceed actual sexual opportunity (which is waaaay too often).

I squeaked out my answer, "I will do it Ms. Hilton. Do you want me to take the mask off?"

"No, leave it on. We want to see your body and I already love my own face," she laughed derisively, "Now get busy little girl."

I got up from my chair and sat on the edge of my bed so the camera could shoot the entire length of my slim torso. I thought I heard the male with Paris say something about itty bitty titties but I noticed when I glanced at my computer screen Paris had backed away from her camera and her guy was cupping her pert little boobs from behind. I couldn't see his face but his large hands covered her tits easily. Actually, I admire Paris for not getting enhanced, but I'm naturally biased because of my own meager mounds.

My masturbation technique is to use props. My fingers can do the job but I've got such a vivid imagination I like to use whatever is around me and create a story line in my head to arouse me further. I love the feel of silk so I have many slinky scarves tied to my bedposts. I pulled on the knot of my favorite white scarf to loosen it and then I held the silk fabric with both arms extended so that it stretched over my nipples. The silk is very sheer so my audience could clearly see my pink areolas under the scarf. I slowly pulled the silk back and forth across my chest creating friction with my sensitive nipples.

Nature has a way of compensating for errors in genetics; my nipples are an example. I have teeny weeny boobies (as you know by now) but my nipples are like those hard Christmas candies when aroused. They popped up and out a full inch immediately as the silk caressed them. I was getting into this quickly as I glanced back at my computer screen and saw Paris watching intently. I noticed one of the man's hands had migrated south to her tummy and was petting her gently. The breast hand was tugging on her nipple like he was milking a tiny cow.

I stood up and shifted my silken prop by lifting one arm above my head and letting the scarf float across my face and down my torso so it was covering my bare pussy. I'm 22 years old but with my slight body and a shaved playground I resemble Lolita in Nabokov's famous erotic novel. I put my free hand behind my butt, reached between my legs and snagged the loose end of the scarf. I pulled it tight across my chest but what I really wanted was the feel of silk against my bare slit.

A little groan escaped from me and gratifyingly I heard a gasp from Paris as the white silk slipped between my outer pussy lips. Now I was stimulating my hard nipples at the same time as the silk slid through my moist, pink slit. I stole a peek at the computer screen and saw that Paris was now leaning forward on her elbows watching me but the man's head was now in back of her apparently giving her oral sex from the rear.

By now I was totally into my act. Another little factoid about my anatomy is that my clit gets a life of its own when properly inspired. It was rearing its head big time as I caressed it with the silk. I'm like a drinking fountain for those who love to lick pussy. My juices flow so freely it's almost embarrassing to see my lover's faces after coming up for air. Thus the white silk was wet from the journey it was taking through my love canal. I felt little twinges course down my legs and heat radiating up my tummy.

I increased the pace of my silk masturbation and squatted down just a little to allow the scarf to fully fill my pink taco. I knew I was getting close but I didn't want to leave my rapt audience behind. I looked into Paris' eyes and said, "Cum with me."

Her pretty blue eyes were a little glazed but she nodded agreement. I leaned back on my bed for balance and ever so slowly began pushing my silk scarf into my wet pussy. Oh God, girls, please try this at home. It is truly heaven. It's not hard like a cock or dildo but the sensation is exquisite. I pushed with two fingers until about half my scarf was inside me. I know exactly where my g-spot is so I massaged it with the sodden silk. I cried out as the first wave of orgasm hit me.

I was still aware enough to look at Paris again and saw that she was bucking against her male friend's face and pulling on her nipples very hard. Her mouth was slightly open as she breathed hard watching me while getting her clit and ass tongue lashed.

I could not wait any longer so I removed my fingers from my pussy and slowly pulled the white, silk scarf out of my wet cunt and across my engorged clit. I was now screaming as the second and third orgasms cascaded up and down my body. Through my Paris Hilton mask I saw Paris clinch her legs around the poor man's head and ride him like a cowgirl in a rodeo barrel race. She too screamed as she reached the pinnacle of sexual satisfaction.

The final inches of my abused scarf dropped out of my dripping pussy. I caught the wet end of the scarf, lifted my mask and sucked my pussy juice from the silk. Paris was slowly coming down from her ecstasy and looked into my real face. She smiled with that classic Hilton look and said, "Case dismissed."